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10
Karma
He spanked me. I shift my weight from foot to foot as I stare out of the window. After Michael left, I had taken a quick shower, then ignored the clothes he had left out for me, because... Yeah, as if I am going to obey that prick after what he did to me.
And if you defy him, will he spank you again?
My thighs clench.Oh, my god, what the hell is wrong with me?I did not just think that, did not.
I had marched over to the closet, then pulled on the first dress I had come across—this knee-length dress in pink, which I absolutely hate, but whatever. It’s something to cover myself up with. There had been enough clothes in the walk-in closet… Most of them seemed new, along with underclothes that were made of the finest laces…and decadently cut.
And all the clothes fit me... no doubt about it, they were to my measurements, how the hell had he managed that? How had he gotten them delivered here so quickly?
I'd run my fingers over the fabric of the dresses in the closet. Everything is exquisite. Even if they have been bought off the shelf they are of the finest quality. The undergarments are as seductive as the outerwear is modest. It’s as if he wants me to appear docile to the world, but under my clothes, appear every bit the whore he, no doubt, regards me as. Whore… Yeah, he definitely thinks of me as his possession.
It’s why he’d taken me across this knee, then taken his palm to me like I was an errant child and I… I’d loved it.Damn it.
I grip the window frame with my fingers. Damn the obnoxious brute of a man. He hadn’t hurt me, to be honest. The slaps had stopped just this side of being hard…unlike him. He’d been aroused from the beating he’d given me, too.
My belly trembles. I’d felt his length thrust up and into my sensitive center. The faster he’d beaten me, the more I’d tried not to scream, and the less I’d succeeded…. And the harder he had become under me. It had been… Strangely arousing. How could it be?
I swipe the hair from my eyes. His wide palms had seared me with each contact. His fingers cupping my flesh, leaving drums beats of fire in their wake. I squeeze my thighs together. There’s no denying the arousal that coats my core as the images cling to my subconscious mind.
How would it be to have him spank me again, then turn me over and part my thighs and swipe me from backhole to my clit, the way he’d used his fingers earlier? My bottom throbs and my pussy clenches.No, no, no.I am not going to let him crawl into my head and play with my fantasies.
The man kidnapped you, held a gun to your forehead, then knocked you out and you… All you can think is how hot he is, how sexy, how completely ovary-exploding that smirk of his is.If he looks at me one more time and drawls some insult… I’m going to lose it.
I’m going to throw myself at him again and lose every last shred of my dignity. I stalk to the center of the room, look around the space. The hair on the back of my neck stiffens. I glance around the space again. It looks like a normal bedroom, but appearances can be deceptive, right? Why can’t I get rid of the feeling that I am being watched, even now? I bite the inside of my cheek.
Has he hidden a camera in this room? Would he do that? Is he watching me, even now? I shiver. Wriggle my hips. It’s creepy as hell. But…when had I last been the single-minded focus of someone’s attention to this extent? Not my mother or my father, not the nuns at the school that I had attended, not my older sister Summer, who—well, okay, so she fussed over me, worried about me. She is my substitute parent, after all.
But Michael... He is intrigued by me. Maybe that’s too complimentary a word… More likely, I am something to pass his time. His newest shiny plaything, to toy with. He looks at me like a boy would a captured butterfly when he has no idea what to do with it. He could imprison me in a bell jar, watch as I flutter my wings and try to escape, or he could pluck my wings out. I shiver.
Ugh, that is not comforting. I rub my fingers over my goosebump ridden arms.
Whoever this man is, he’s not kidding around. Every time he’s seen me, he’s had a plan, an agenda… To put me down. To strip me of all of my dignity, to make me crawl and… I won’t. No. No way, am I going to give in to him. The moment I do, I’ll lose his interest, and then he’ll kill me. I swallow. Or…or worse.No, don’t go there. Focus on the now.I am here, alive and—the door opens—apparently, I have a visitor.
A woman stands silhouetted in the doorway.
I blink. "Who’re you?"
"I'm Cassandra." She smiles, "I am the Capo's housekeeper."
"Capo?" I scowl, "You mean Michael?"
She nods, her dark eyes wide, her face pleasant. She’s in her thirties, hair scraped back in a bun that makes her seem older than her years. Her starched black dress comes to below her knees and is shapeless in the way women who don’t want to draw attention to themselves tend to dress. She has sensible shoes, which don’t detract at all from her shapely, fair legs. In her hands she holds a vanity kit.
"What do you want?" I frown. Okay, so I am being belligerent, but can you blame me? I don’t trust anyone in this house.
"I'm here to help you shave your vagina," she murmurs.
"What the hell?" I choke out, "I can't believe that asshole actually went through with this."
She moves toward me and I throw up my hands, "Whoa, hold on, I can shave myself, thank you very much."
She hesitates, "Are you sure? I can help you—"
"No," I snap, "Just...hand over the stuff I need and you can leave."
